Wednesday, January 11, 2006

Bad Poetry Mode #3: If Walt Whitman couldn't write poetry worth a shit, I'd be just like Walt Whitman!

Understand: I like Walt Whitman. He is a Great Poet. His
spirit and vision are a constant source of inspiration, his
energy is humbling, and his verbal gifts remain in many
ways unsurpassed. Also, Walt Whitman represents what
I like to think of as the actual conscience of America, an
all-embracing love of humanity and an ever-renewing
enthusiasm for democracy. We need more Walt Whitman
n our national character nowadays. We’ve let our grand
experiment wander down a dark alley of narrow-minded-
ness, trite and vulgar nationalism, and stupid consumerism–
we don’t listen to Walt Whitman tell us what it is to be an
American anymore, we listen to Sean Hannity and Rush
Limbaugh and Bill O’Reilly instead, and–honestly–how
fucking sad is that? It’s one of the worst things a people
can do, to give their prejudices and ignorances preference
over their kindness and charity. We’re in a bad phase. We
are no longer the young country he loved so much. The
way we live today would make Walt Whitman sick.

But I didn’t come here to lecture you people. I came here
to write bad poetry. And, since great poetry in the Whitman
mold is so great, bad poetry in that same mold must be
unspeakably bad. The chiming cadences, the florid wordiness,
the flagrant emotional nudity: these are things you have be an
egomaniac to attempt and a genius to get away with. Many of
today’s bad poets fulfill the first requirement while forgetting
about the second. That’s the way I am, but on purpose.

So, seeing as my bad poetry this week has traced a line from
obscene to obscener, it must be time for the obscenest! Prepare
yourself, gentle readership, for it doesn’t get much worse than

An Ode To Prospective Supreme Court Justice Samuel
Anthony Alito, Jr.
by Kevin-M

Judge Alito! O Judge Alito!
What gifts now reside beneath your doughty robe?
For you to bestow forth upon us, a gasping Nation
Hungry for the dispensing of Wisdom and clamoring
For the Return to Honor known by our forefathers
Before the era of the accursed Clinton?

Judge Alito! O Judge Alito!
May you, son of Trenton, be confirmed forthwith
And vindicate our incipient rightlessness with
A flaming sword of Holy Conservatism
With which to strike down vulgar Frenchmen
And deify the adorable and humble fetus!

Judge Alito! O Judge Alito!
For I know even the mighty Filibuster
Cannot stay your hand from striking down
Those who would question your Integrity
And release great tumult throughout Christendom
The damnable ACLU!

Judge Alito! O Judge Alito!
Your hair may be quickly receding
But never will your Temperament!
Nor your Burning Passion
Nor your Toothsome Eloquence
Nor your Sure Self-Regard!

Judge Alito! O Judge Alito!
How it hurts the soul of Republicanism
When they say you belonged to a sexist claque!
How dare they slander your Euphonious name
With such base and accurate claims?
Oh, I hate them, I hate them, I do!

Judge Alito! O Judge Alito!
Quickly, before the hearings recommence!
Kiss me with that passion I know resides
Within your stately bosom!
Touch me with that hair-flecked hand
And speak to me of stare decisis!

Judge Alito! O Judge Alito!
Can’t you just keep the chamber door closed
A moment longer? For I long to hear the boom
Of that Firm Gavel you wield so warmly
And to feel, if only for a second, your Graceful Presence
As you Mount me as ruthlessly you shall Mount
The Halls of Eternal Justice!